The rest of that afternoon passed in a smear of images. Han dismounted and helped Raisa down from her horse under the glare of the Bayars. He and Amon Byrne mounted the steps to the dais together, just behind Raisa. They stood to either side as Raisa embraced her sister Mellony and Averill Demonai and the woman with the long gray braid. She greeted the others more formally, but had a smile and a word for each—even Lord Bayar, whom she greeted with a rum street face.

The Demonai still stood to either side of the dais, their longbows held loosely in their hands, arrows nocked but pointed at the ground, their eyes fixed on the wizards on the stage. It was less a treaty than a standoff.

Under Jemson’s direction, Raisa spoke a prayer over the dead queen, commending her to her rest in the Spirit Mountains. She greeted her ancestors, the Gray Wolf queens, naming them from memory. She asked them—and her mother—to watch over her and guide her as she led her people forward.

That makes no sense, asking for guidance from Queen Marianna, Han thought. She’s made a mess of things.

The speaker touched on memories of Marianna as a young girl—her talent for dancing, her skill on the basilka and harpsichord, her love of the hunt. She had been widely hailed as the most beautiful and eligible princess in the Seven Realms, attracting a relentless parade of suitors vying for her hand. People cheered her wherever she went—she was the glittering centerpiece of a fairy tale they all could believe in.

Then the fairy tale ended. Queen Lissa died, and Marianna ascended to the throne at fifteen. Civil war broke out in Arden, and the young queen was challenged by an influx of refugees and a decline in trade revenues. The Council of Nobles recommended an isolationist policy and her generals spent vast amounts on mercenaries. Taxes were raised again and again.

Worried about being drawn into the wars to the south, Marianna passed over the glittering princes and chose to marry Averill Lightfoot—a suitor from inside the queendom who had the strength of the Spirit clans behind him. When wizards and Valefolk complained about their fairy-tale princess marrying a copperhead, Marianna defiantly planned the most elaborate wedding ever seen. It was said to have cost one hundred thousand crowns and beggared the treasury for years to come.

Even in Ragmarket and Southbridge, people still had souvenirs from that wedding stashed away. Mam had kept a copper coin with Queen Marianna on one side and Averill on the other.

It’s a sad thing, Han thought, when the best a speaker like Jemson can say about you is that you could throw a good party.

That wasn’t all he said, of course, but that was how Han’s bitter ears bent it.